The imaginary landscape of one who thinks he was born in a Kanthapura, and, for his summer vacations, visited a Malgudi!

Friday, October 07, 2005

The not-so-gentle madness!

Sometimes, when they see me, my friends duck. I can see why. When I discover a new writer or book, I get this irresistible urge to thrust it on all my friends, so that, over coffee we can discuss the author/book. And, when I strongly recommend the book (and offer to loan the book), if the offer is not taken, I get a bit irritated. I have not yet gone to the extent of this friend of Pradeep Sebastian, who buys books so that they can be distributed among friends; but, I know I am almost there. So, it is when my friends perceive me with that manic gleam in my eyes, and nervous energy in my walk that they duck; and, if they are lucky, and manage to evade me, they heave a sigh of relief and say "Abba, Aaj bachgaya hoon main". The same story repeats with the movies I like, and the blogs that I love to read (as Deep, Praj, Santonu, Shencottah, and innumerable others would vouch).

So, not surprisingly, when I find kindred souls who love to read, and share their love with others via their 'strong' recommendations, my heart leaps with joy. Here, I have in my mind Ram Guha, Pradeep Sebastian, David Davidar, Shashi Deshpande (as I recently found out), Harold Bloom, Somerset Maugham, Virginia Woolf, and, their ilk. It is well near impossible, for example, to read Woolf's Common Reader and not be obsessed with Woolf and the authors that she writes about.

Well, dear reader, if you are wondering what this rambling is all about, you guessed it right: some recommendations for you:-) Here is a review, appropriately titled "Book lust" that I got from here: the book itself is titled "Leave me alone, I am reading" - such sweet words (and such sweet freedom to proclaim it - Boy, am I jealous?!).

Here is another link that discusses the pleasures of reading (again from PTDR):

The spectacle of King Lear wandering the plain in his madness, of the gnawing self-consumption of Dostoevsky's underground man, of the wittily articulated hopelessness endured by Kafka's heroes, even of Anne Frank's unbearably poignant self-discovery - all give us an intense but inexplicable and even disturbing pleasure.

And,

The distinctive form of aesthetic pleasure we take from the literary experience gives us the sense that we are being deepened, empowered, and enriched even as we are being entertained or charmed - pleased in the deepest sense.

Finally, since it was so strongly recommended by the reviewer of "Leave me...", here is the link to Villette online.